Different Affair
by Cececat
Summary: What if the castle had first ended up all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, a decade before the Denton Affair? What if they'd first met a miniskirt-clad girl who dreamed of being an actress on 'Doctor Who? It would explain their accents, at least. (Please Read and Review!)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_**

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 **A/N: So... I don't know where this came from. It's pretty random. Also, the narrator is very much fictional and not based on any real person I know. I've never met anyone from Belfast, though I've heard the accent is confusing to outsiders which is a good thing here. If someone reading this lived in Belfast, Northern Ireland during the 1960s thinks this is awfully inaccurate don't be offended. Of course, I don't think anyone fitting that description would be reading this. They'd be my Granny's age...**

 **The fact that she wants to be an actress is what we call a 'Chekov's Skill'. Later the things she's learned in order to be more useful to the BBC will be very useful to the story.**

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It was 1960-something when this story starts. The specific year doesn't matter. These days you've got computers, mathematics… okay, we also had mathematics. I just didn't think they did me any good and staunchly avoided them. Never have I actually needed half the things they tried to teach us.

Life wasn't going well in my opinion. I was a kid. Teenaged and already tired of how my life was going. I felt so old, like I'd lived a hundred years longer than I actually had. Looking back, the 60s in general were like that. Everyone is feeling old, tired, and ready to take action. Wanting to fix all these restrictions that kept us from feeling truly free.

Too often I felt like I knew more than I really did. When you're that age you don't know anything at all. But I had a good mind for Holmes-like deduction and would cheat my way through life like that. I wanted more, though. So much more. I wanted to be 'cool' and be in control of my life. My idea of 'cool' was a common one, though I thought it was unique.

As a way of asserting myself or _something_ I'd wear these miniskirts. Everybody wore them in those days. Even the boys did in the city – or so I'd heard. I also cut my hair kinda short. Not short as Twiggy's, mind you, because it's too hard to straighten. I'm sort of Irish, so my hair is terribly curly. My skin's also pretty fair and doesn't do well with sunlight. Good thing I live in the gloomy, rainy British Isles. You know, The Beatles originated here. Those four wonderful boys – and, I suppose, the Queen – are reasons I'm proud to be a Brit!

I'm not really _that_ British, though. I adore the movies – which are American. Though I suppose we've got movies too. We've at least got the BBC, and therefore _Doctor Who_ , which is nice. My life ambition was too be in _Doctor Who_ one day. That would be a real dream come true even now.

Anyway, my life as an average British girl became far from average when a Castle from the Stars interrupted it. Yep, you heard me right. Aliens invaded Belfast! Though the Troubles were being especially troublesome later in the decade, things were quiet when the Castle happened. Somehow, even at that mostly point in time, nobody really noticed the aliens. Boy, they were missing out on some exciting events. Those events deserve a title. I think I'll call it the Belfast Affair. That would be fitting. It's delightfully ominous. And 'affair' is a word that makes sense with those mad aliens.

Anyway, it began on a perfectly normal day. Though I suppose it wasn't an ordinary day if it all began then. The day began ordinary… then wasn't.

I was being angsty whilst sitting outside my school building and occasionally kicking the building. It's a nice school, mind. I just wasn't in agreement with mainstream at the moment and kicking the building seemed Right according to this rebellious state of mind. Staring dreamily at the sky, I wondered about the future. Would I ever be a _grand_ actress? Would I ever be on _Doctor Who_? Wait…. was that a _spaceship_?

There, amongst the fluffy white clouds, was a stone-square-thing. It was sort of hard to see. For all I knew it could've been smashed-up bits of some part of the city that had been hit hard by the War. Those places weren't very pretty.

As the thing in the sky neared the ground I realized it was a castle. I also realized it was going to end up somewhere near the outskirts of the city.

"How extraordinary!" I muttered, as was my habit.

A moment later it was time for the schoolday to begin. As I wandered off to a fiendish geometry class I nearly forget all about it. Though it was always there in the back of my mind.

When school ended I went home, left a note to Dad stating what I was doing, and _then_ went looking for the sky-castle. This was a very strange little mission of mine. Though I needed to know what this was all about. One of the few things I actually hate is being in the dark about something. That's one reason I didn't like the repressive society I lived in. Nobody told the young people anything. Why couldn't we wear mini-skirts? Because we couldn't. That's not a real answer, but the adults all think so!

Anyway, I spent the entire afternoon looking for the castle. Lots of people know me in my neighborhood, but other places don't. Especially areas that got ruined in the War. There's darkness and homeless people. So eventually I was too weirded out and went home. Dad greeted me at the door.

"Hello, dear. What's this 'castle' you mentioned?" he asked me.

"It fell from the sky, Da! Like something out of-"

"Like something out of _Doctor Who_. Right. Don't you have some work you should've be doing? Or are you protesting again?" His tone was playful, so he clearly wasn't angry. Though I felt a bit insulted.

It was at this point that I decided that I _needed_ to unravel the Mystery of the Castle. Then I would be taken more seriously. Later, of course, I realized there wasn't much of a mystery. Just a group of very unusual people – which I liked, since I find such things endearing – living in a magic castle that wasn't a TARDIS (though it really should've been). On the second day I learned all of it. First, however, I spent the night dreaming of what mysterious beings owned that castle from the stars…

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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_**

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 **A/N: I don't approve of drugs, but a character in this chapter sure does. He's named after "Jack Dawkins, better know as the Artful Dodger".**

 **So... the main character is named Mary Belazs (as revealed in this chapter). That's because 'Mary' is a common name and Patricia Quinn plays '** **Belazs' in an episode of _Doctor Who_** **.** **I wanted people to assume her name was Patricia Quinn, thanks to hints chapter one, at first. Never do my stories have proper surprises in them these days!** **This is a work of fiction and Patricia Quinn is _not_ fictional. Probably. **

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Early the next day – which was a Saturday, you know – I got up and dressed in one of my usual miniskirt-including outfits. There was also a nice hat to go with it, which was of some kind of knit. I wanted to go looking for the castle. Alas, I didn't really get very far. As I was sneaking down my street in the bitter cold, a familiar person stopped me.

"Miss Mary Belazs. What are you up to _this_ time?"

There stood my longtime rival and sometimes friend Young Mr. Thomas Dawkins, who happened to be _precisely_ 16 years of age. As usual he wore that awful old beret his mother had knitted long ago atop his fab four-inspired haircut. With it ( _that_ day) he'd donned a plain button-down, his allegedly 'honest worker's' trousers, those peculiar shoes he wears, and a loose jacket that he often hid weed in. That boy wanted to be a mod but didn't have the budget. He also wanted to be a Beatle, like everyone else.

I raised an eyebrow. "A better question, Mister Dawkins, is what are _you_ up to? Selling mysterious smokable plants to your Virtuous Catholics Neighbors?"

Tom was technically Catholic, like most people in the neighborhood. Though he wasn't very glad of this fact because he did naughty things the Catholics didn't technically approve of. I don't _just_ mean the drugs. Though that didn't exactly help…

"No. I've investigating the castle that apparently showed up out of nowhere."

This made me smile a bright smile. "How extraordinary. That makes two of us!"

He laughed. "Though I'm a step ahead of ya! I've already met them and was so impressed by that castle that I gave them a bit of my beloved drugs for free."

"Where are they now?"

"At their castle. So c'mon, girl. Let's meet some aliens!"

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After quite a bit of walking we reached the castle. It had ended up not far outside of the city. As we neared it I began to feel a bit nervous. That castle loomed ominously over us. Isn't "loomed" a delightful word? So is "ominously ", I suppose. Both are terribly fun to say.

Anyway, Dawkins noticed how nervous I was. He patted me on the head quite kindly. This annoyed me… though only slightly.

"It's okay, girl. These kids are nice," Dawkins said cheerfully.

Then, he knocked on that ominous door. Far too soon a woman with wildly curly, just-longer-than-shoulder-length red hair opened the door. She wore a strange outfit that looked very space-y. It all glittered slightly in the light.

"Hello, again," she said in a vaguely German accent. "What's this you've brought along with you?"

"My friend _Miss_ Mary Belazs," he replied… in an RP accent he'd probably copied off something shown on the BBC.

"We aren't exactly friends," I grumbled.

We weren't friends when he happened to be doing something unpleasant such as mocking me. That seemed to be most of the time. Though knowing him had some advantages. Dawkins seemed to know that

"Vhat harsh, unpleasant language does _zat_ von speak?" the redhead said rather rudely.

"English with a terrifying Belfast accent," Dawkins explained. "It's a great challenge to understand. That's why I'm talking like somebody you'd here on the BBC."

"Trying to be posh, Dawkins? Are we a play by George Bernard Shaw now?"

That reference was lost on the alien, of course. Not to mention she apparently couldn't understand my speech. After staring at me for a moment she decided to introduce herself.

"My name is Magenta. Vell, zat's what it becomes in English," she explained. "I am a servant here."

"You don't look like a servant. More like something out of a bad science fiction picture," I pointed out. "Like the ones about alien amazons invading."

Magenta turned to Dawkins. "Translate, please."

"She says you look like a fictional person from a film about a matriarchal society that invades our planet. Not a servant, as you've stated. I think she meant you look too nice to be a servant and you need grimier, less-attractive clothes. Though even with those you'd still be pretty cute, with those green eyes and all..."

That wasn't exactly what I said, though I didn't really care. Dawkins tacking on that nonsense at the end annoyed me terribly… though not as much as the fact I couldn't directly talk to her despite speaking the same language.

Then, I realized something: as an actress-in-training I knew a variety of accents. Though the only one, besides my natural accent, that I knew well was a nice RP accent. That's the sort they usually speak with on the BBC (which is one reason I learned it so well). Perhaps, I decided, I could speak with such an accent whenever talking to Magenta the servant.

Before I could try that, however, another person appeared. He wore a similar outfit to Magenta - though a bit fancier – and smiled a cat-like smile.

"Hov do you do?" he asked, in the same accent as the servant.

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 **A/N: In this story we shall learn where the aliens got their fashion sense, their, and some of their ideas about Earth. From a cheerful young actress-in-training and a drug-dealing teenager who resembles the Artful Dodger, in the 1960s. Combine that with the already-existing weirdness and we get the aliens as we know them today! Or do we?**

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